


'Til Death Do Us Part

by Lafayettee



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Mehh, One Shot, Other, based off a prompt, thomas is death basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 11:05:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14103990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafayettee/pseuds/Lafayettee
Summary: He has to collect the very last soul, and in thought of decency, he decides to learn the man's name.Or, I’m really bored so here’s a one shot.





	'Til Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a prompt.  
> \--
> 
> Write one for yourself! Here's the prompt:
> 
> Prompt  
> Since the beginning of time, Death had always been there to collect the souls of the dead. Today, he collected the soul of the last living human. As he stood alone, he asked himself a long avoided question… ‘Who’s going to collect my soul?’

——

The task assigned to one known as simply ‘Thomas’, that is in the Western culture. Many religions, cultures and place amongst the earth had a different name for him, but there was one thing that remained the same: an entity who collects the souls of those who die. It wasn’t by sheer force, simply when they would naturally die. The job wasn’t painful, for the souls they would take had no connection whatsoever. This, however, we should look at the Western view, or rather the American. Thomas, a man, otherwise known as Death. Thomas was simply doing his job and occasionally in the midst a tear or two would roll down his face usually from deaths of children or the elderly. Traveling around the world, he has seen every crook and cranny, every crevice of each state, country, island, whatever mass of land that existed. Not every way of death he has seen but there were truly some remarkable ones. However, traveling and seeing every soul alive, Thomas was full of envy. He longed for love and not one of romance but between friends and family. He only worked alongside God, whom in the Western culture usually referred to as “James” but even then they did not work well. Thomas and James were arguably the most generic names given to such powerful entities, yet it has simply circulated ever since America was found, the names being seen in pamphlets and speeches through out the lands. By then, it was normal. Usually, though, they have simply been known as ‘God’ and ‘Death’. Thomas, not in favor of James, would simply float around the world collecting souls. His hair had been a head of curls, big and fluffy from all the souls he has collected. He had grown envious of young couples making the cereal aisle romantic by dancing to the music that blared through the supermarket speakers, the gentle and loving touch of a mother and the strength and motivation given by a father, or the power of friendship and trust that people would share despite not being blood. This, Thomas watched all the time. Perhaps that was why he did not feel saddened, for it was blinded by envy of such affections. 

He shook his head out of such thoughts. Thomas was floating to New York City in search of the last soul. He had thought of his being and what he has done and the feeling had left him empty and destitute, despite not being human. As he wandered about, he looked over the world itself and the city. It was empty and quiet, the sounds of the ocean and winds finally being at peace instead of at the hands of humans. The buildings, tarnished and falling, sure, but new lands, natural ones without gases and machines to trample over or ruin the air. The earth had been at peace. New York City had its lights still running, the very few moments before the massive generators would die down. How it came to be, the earth that is, was simply an epidemic that took America by the storm and eventually spread to other parts since those who traveled had tried to seek for a cure. In the midst, a man who kept himself in his house with no windows and a simple door kept writing about such events in hopes to find a cure for his wife and child. But he failed, and that was why Thomas was here. Thomas was a wraith and found himself easily slipping under the small opening under the door. How this man did not get affected was one he questioned but soon realized that the opening was compact and even hard for Thomas. Inside the house, Thomas looked around to see papers full of notes and drawings scattered about as well as multiple liquids on the grounds and tables and shattered glasses used for experimentation and mixing. In the middle of the living room was a small, green velvet couch that sat before a coffee table. A man who had his face in his hands, his brown locks greasy for even the water had been contaminated. Sweating from the large jacket he wore and tight black jeans. The oxygen tank laid on his right, the meter slowly going down. Thomas realized that he would die naturally, for no clear air was around. He was wrong. The door was not compact to leave out the air of the outside world, the man was simply living on an oxygen tank. On the couch, the man whispered, “Eliza….Philip….Eliza….. Philip….”, on repeat. His voice was raspy, Thomas could hear. Thomas assumed it was the man’s loves, friends or family or even a significant other. Thomas looked around his house for any identity of this man, for he felt it decent to at least know who was the last soul he was taking. He was not visible, so he did not worry much about intruding. He wandered towards the drawers before finding a polaroid and the man’s face, easily recognizable from the same brown hair and jacket. The polaroid had words written with a marker which read: “Alexander Hamilton the man! <3”, and in the picture was the man standing with a wide smile.  
“Alexander Hamilton.”, Thomas whispered.

Thomas quickly whipped his head to the couch, with wide eyes. 

“Who’s there?!”, the man, or Alexander, frantically called out.

Alexander looked around the room, turning his head quickly from side to side and looked to his back. He had wide eyes which were red from crying, Thomas assumed, and his voice muffled by the mask to keep the oxygen flowing. Alexander took a look at his oxygen tank, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. 

“No…no….no… I didn’t find a cure yet.. No…”, Alexander cried as he saw the oxygen tank slowly draining. 

Thomas stared in awe. He knows the law, but he thinks about it. He thinks about God, he thinks about James and his words: Do not ever interact with a human.

Thomas couldn’t help himself. He slowly pulled out his scythe out of thin air and looked at Alexander as he stared at his oxygen tank, tears in his eyes.  
“I’m sorry.”, Thomas whispered. Alexander looked back with wide eyes, his mask falling off. His eyes were the widest it can be, mouth open from surprise from the “human” before him where his lower half was in a wraith form.

“Wh—”, Alexander couldn’t finish. Thomas swung his scythe across his neck. No spurts of blood came out, simply a jet black smoke that came from the cut as the man’s body fell to the ground in a loud thud. He felt it add on to his mass of curls. Thomas dropped his scythe. For once, he was completely alone and tears rolled down his eyes. He could taste the salt of it in his mouth. In a flash, however, he found himself before James.

“Death… you broke the rule.”, he said in a monotone voice and a glare. 

He took a deep breath, "I know, God. I know." 

Thomas braced himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a whore for comments. <3


End file.
